


just take some time

by buries



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Gen, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"brooding won't get you the girl."</i> or the one where stefan's brooding and it's not about elena for once. set somewhere in 4x01.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just take some time

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [damon salvatore ficathon](http://badboy-fangirl.livejournal.com/701771.html) for fluffyfrolicker who prompted _damon/stefan | you are forgiven. always and completely forgiven._ **this fic is based on season four speculation; contains 4x01 spoilers**. title from jimmy eat world's _the middle_. ♥

“Just so you know,” Damon raises his eyebrows, not surprised to find him up in his old witing room. Every thought that ever belonged to a girl was created here and thrown into Stefan’s diary with ink. He misses those days. “ _Brooding_ won’t get you the girl.”

“That’s not what I want,” Stefan says.

Damon feels irritation start to climb his spine like a ladder. Stefan hasn’t turned around to look at him. His eyes stay on the glass panels of the window. “Then _what_ is it that you want?”

There’s a sigh by the glass. “I’ve already lost everything,” Stefan says, back to him. He’s holding a scotch. He always is. Glancing out the window, Damon wonders if Stefan can feel the burn. He still can. His desperate attempt to end it all and be done with it still blisters his skin if he stands in the direct sunlight for too long.

“Oh, _jeez_ ,” Damon rolls his eyes, side-stepping to the table holding the liquor. He fills his scotch glass to the brim. “We all know the good guy wins, Stef. Chin up.”

Stefan shifts, sparing him a glance before returning to the window. There’s nothing out there. No doppelgangers to stalk. No Originals to watch out for; Klaus isn’t standing out there with a piece of a picket fence. It’s one of the advantages of not living right in the core of suburbia; all there is to break the windows of the Boarding House is tree, tree, and maybe Stefan’s car. “I’m not talking about Elena, Damon.”

“Then, _what_ , pray tell, _are_ you talking about, little brother?” He drains half of the scotch. It goes down like the sun without a daywalking ring. He mumbles against the glass, “I certainly can’t tell.”

Stefan fully turns around, brows pulled together. His arms cross against his chest. He’s not wearing a wife-beater. Damon’s come to associate that with the deepest of thoughts, the kind of brooding that reads as _Dear diary_. “I’ve been thinking -”

“Alert the presses,” he says behind his glass.

“About what I did to you.”

“You’re going to have to be a _little_ more specific.”

“When we turned. Back in the 1800s.” Stefan doesn’t mention the year because they both know mentioning it only brings forth an avalanche of unwanted memories. Damon’s forgotten the year on purpose, pushed it back with liquor and girls and breaking limbs. “I never really said I was sorry.”

“For what?” Damon turns his back to Stefan. “There’s _nothing_ to be sorry about, Stefan,” he drags the name out, eyes wide, as he turns around to face his brother. “Maybe that shirt, but, I’m not the fashion police,” he ends with a shrug.

“Turning you against your will. I wasn’t thinking. I was being selfish.” Stefan doesn’t take the bait to change the subject, _of course_. If his brother is anything, it’s stubborn to apologise and atone for things he doesn’t need any atonement for. 

“Earth to Stefan,” Damon approaches, finding his steps are wider and more powerful than he intends. He leaves the glass on a piece of furniture, a blur in his peripheral, as he bursts Stefan’s personal bubble. “We’re all a little selfish. And this? Is something you need to _get over_ all ready. I’m not going to be something you write about in your diary.”

“Damon -”

“I forgive you,” he spits. He finds himself saying it at him, rather than to him. It’s easier to turn this into an argument rather than something _deep_. Fighting over faces and hearts, Damon knows he’s already forgotten what it’s like to fight for his brother. He stopped the moment Stefan returned to Virginia. “I forgave you back in 1869. I forgave you in 1917. I forgave you when you chose Klaus over me. I forgave you when you took my ring a few years ago.” He’s staring Stefan dead in the eye when he says, “ _I forgive you_.”

Stefan’s quiet, his head ducked. Damon can tell he’s about to crawl back into that brooding hole and curl up in there for all of winter. So, as his big brother, he decides to prevent him. 

Placing his hands on his shoulders, Damon catches his eye, almost nose to nose. How he ended up with the most densest of brothers, he’s not even sure, but he’s certain he must’ve snapped someone’s neck in a past life for all the bad karma he’s been swimming in recently. “Why do you think I’m _here_ , Stef? I don’t stick around for the shit that hits the fan _every single day_.” He shakes him. He doesn’t really mean to. “You’re my _brother_.”

He waits until Stefan’s eyes shift up to his. He has to. It’s inevitable that he does. Damon will wait for all of eternity for it to happen if he has to. “And as your _big_ brother, I’m going to need you to get your head back in the game.” Damon’s hands slip from Stefan’s shoulders to hang uselessly by his sides. “ _This_ one with the council. We can _bromance_ it up after we’ve won.”


End file.
